


Caffeine High

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: All New X-Factor, X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom
Genre: I just mixed a bunch of x-men universes together okay?, M/M, coffee shop AU, quickbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pietro is forced to get a job, so he applies to the only place he hasn't been banned from. One of the regulars decides to make his life difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caffeine High

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FelicityGS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicityGS/gifts).



> From a prompt on Tumblr for quickbit coffee shop AU with DoFP Pietro. So, pretty much, this is a mix of DoFP (Pietro, Wanda), All-New X-Factor (Pietro, Remy, and Wanda), and X-Men comics (Remy) in terms of world/characterization/whatever else is going on. They're all younger than they are in the comics, though. Think 18-23. Remy is probably the oldest. 
> 
> Also, I wrote it while in a coffee shop!

It wasn't the ideal job. In fact, Pietro would've preferred not to work any jobs at all. Who needed a job when you could just take what you wanted? But his mother insisted, saying being a thief was no way for her son to live, and he needed to learn the value of money. And besides, his mom needed help with the bills, and Pietro had been old enough to help for at least four years. 

He suspected it had more to do with his stealing habit, though. Wanda hadn't been asked to get a job. Then again, Wanda wasn't home all the time like he was. And she didn't steal things.

The problem with finding a job was that Pietro had stolen from nearly every store within a fifty mile radius of their home. Applying for jobs after that sort of thing would've been...awkward. 

"But you can't steal coffee, right?" Wanda said to him one night when he was having a minor panic about what to do. "Besides, you like coffee." 

"What are you saying?" Pietro asked. "That I should make coffee for a living?" 

"Exactly," Wanda said. 

Pietro thought it was a ridiculous idea for about five seconds. Then he realized that Wanda was right. She very often was right. 

So the next day he walked to the coffee shop (walked because he was pretty sure that running in at nearly the speed of sound would scare everyone) and got a job application. He sat there, filling it out, and handed it to the barista, a young man who frowned at him and said, “Do I know you?” 

“Nope,” Pietro said. He was about to run when the young man started talking again. 

“You come in here a lot,” he said. “Order mochas, right?” 

“Yeah,” Pietro said, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I do.” He wasn't used to people knowing him for something other than causing trouble. 

When he got home, Wanda took one look at him and shook her head. “You're not getting a job like that,” she said. 

“Like what?” Pietro cried, looking down at himself. 

“Your hair,” Wanda said. “It's awful.” 

“I was born like this,” Pietro snapped. 

“I'm not talking about the color,” Wanda said. “You need a haircut. I can't believe mom let it get this long.” 

“I can't believe you're complaining about my hair,” Pietro said, gesturing to Wanda's hair, which was very curly and unruly. 

“Haircut,” Wanda said. “Now.” 

“All the haircut places are closed,” Pietro said. 

“I didn't say you were going to get a haircut somewhere else,” Wanda said. Pietro's eyes widened and he backed away from her. 

Wanda hexed the front door locked. And all the other doors in the house, except the bathroom door. So, ten minutes and lots of complaining later, she and Pietro were in the bathroom, Wanda brandishing scissors and clumps of Pietro's silver-white hair decorating the floor. 

“Don't say I never did anything for you,” Wanda said. 

Pietro frowned at himself in the mirror. His hair stuck up in all directions, like it had been recently windswept. “Wanda,” he said, “where did you learn how to cut hair?” 

“I hexed the scissors to do a good job,” Wanda said. 

Pietro sighed. “I liked having long hair. Now you can see my ears.” 

“You have nice ears,” Wanda told him. 

He wasn't convinced. 

*

The next day he got a call asking for an interview. The day after, he had the interview. He remembered to speak slowly and to not get impatient with the woman who could be his future boss. It paid off, because he was hired, and two days after that he found himself donning a black apron and a name-tag that read “Peter.” 

“My name's Pietro,” he told the woman he was working with, whose name was Betsy. 

“How unique,” Betsy said. “We didn't have a Pietro. We sort of re-use name tags. You're lucky you got a name that's close enough.” 

“Is your name really Betsy?” 

“No.” 

He spent the day learning how to use the coffee machines and how to make various types of drinks. He also learned that people were very peculiar about their coffee, that there were regulars, and that he looked good in all black, which was officially the unofficial dress-code for all the baristas. 

At least three of the regulars told him that his new-ness was adorable and that he'd get used to it. He couldn't even remember what they looked like. 

“It's weird,” he told Wanda when he got home. “I just like sweet things but some people really want espresso and foam and I don't understand that.” 

“To some people coffee isn't a thing you enjoy,” Wanda said, “it's a thing they use to stay awake.” 

Armed with this new insight, Pietro spent the second day making perfect coffees. When Betsy expressed how impressed she was, he told her, “I'm a fast learner.” 

Then the lull came. According to Betsy, every day had a period where no one really came in and there was nothing to do except pretend to be busy. It was maddening. Pietro cleaned the tables at least twice, trying not to do it abnormally fast. He cleaned out the coffee machines. He cleaned all the dishes and cups. He put new pastries in the oven to bake for the afternoon rush. He tapped his foot fast enough that it created a buzzing sound that several people noticed. But no one noticed it was him, so that was good. 

“You look like you're about to jump outta your skin,” Betsy told him. 

“How-is-it-only-eleven?” Pietro asked. 

“What?” 

“How is it not even lunch yet?” 

Betsy shrugged. “One of those days.” 

Pietro was thinking about disassembling and reassembling the coffee machines to see how they worked when the door opened and he rushed to the register to greet the brown-haired man who'd walked inside. 

“Hello-how-are-you-what-would-you-like-to-drink-today?” he asked. 

The man stared at him, or Pietro thought he did. He was wearing dark sunglasses. After a moment, he opened his mouth and said, in the slowest drawl Pietro ever heard, “I reckon you've been on the espresso today, haven't you?” 

“Remy,” Betsy said from behind Pietro. 

“Bonjour,” Remy said, giving her a little wave. He was wearing fingerless gloves. Pietro bit back a comment about how ridiculous he thought the gloves looked. He didn't really have room to talk. He owned a silver leather jacket. “I see you got new blood. Energetic new blood.” 

“The name's Pietro,” Pietro interrupted. 

“Not what it says on your name-tag,” Remy said. 

“Screw the name-tag,” Pietro snapped. “What do you want?” 

“I'd say something about how that isn't the proper way to speak to customers,” Betsy said into his ear, “but it's Remy. So it's fine. Watch him, by the way. He tries to steal coffee beans.” 

“I'm insulted,” Remy said, pressing a hand to his chest. “I don't steal anything.” 

“Is that why you're banned from every other store around here?” Betsy asked. “What do you want, anyway?” 

“I'll have a caramel latte,” Remy said. “Extra sugar.” He smirked. Pietro handed a cup to Betsy and rang him up. Remy paid, and leaned over the counter so that when Pietro went to hand him his change, he jumped because Remy's face was way too close for comfort. 

“Ever heard of personal space?” he asked. 

“You're wound up,” Remy observed. “Why's that?” 

Pietro rolled his eyes. “I'm bored, why do you think?” He handed Remy his change. “Are you really a thief?” 

“Not a thief if I don't get caught,” Remy told him. 

“Yes you are,” Betsy said over the whir of the machine steaming milk. 

“C'mon, I haven't taken anything from here,” Remy said. 

“Yet,” Betsy muttered. 

“Are you a regular?” Pietro asked. 

“Mmm-hmm,” Remy said. “That's some interesting hair you have.” 

Pietro reached up to feel his hair, unconsciously. A few people had commented on his striking hair. Some had been charmed. Some hadn't been very nice about it. And one said that his haircut was cutting edge, but Pietro thought that person had been high on something. 

Remy leaned even closer. “You a mutant?” 

Pietro shifted on his feet. “I'm a barista.” 

“Here,” Betsy said, coming up from behind Pietro and shoving a drink into Remy's hands. “Anything else we can do for you today?” 

“A date?” Remy asked. 

“Not a chance,” Betsy said. Remy sighed, overly dramatic, and sauntered out of the shop. 

“What was that?” Pietro asked. 

“Remy LeBeau, ex-New Orleans thief and all-around pain in the ass,” Betsy said. “Don't worry about it.” 

*

Pietro didn't want to worry about it, but Remy came in the next day while he was cleaning tables. He ordered his drink and then sidled up next to Pietro and said, “Hey.” Which made Pietro jump, because he hadn't even seen Remy enter the cafe. 

“What?” he snapped, spinning around and brandishing a washcloth in Remy's face. 

“You never answered my question,” Remy said. “You a mutant or not?” 

“Are you?” Pietro countered. 

Remy smirked and lowered his sunglasses. His eyes were black, with red in the center. “What d'you think?” 

“If it's so obvious,” Pietro said, gesturing to his hair, “why are you asking?” 

“Some people have different features and aren't mutants,” Remy pointed out. “So what d'you do?” 

“I make coffee,” Pietro said. “Is your mutation stealing?” 

“Seriously,” Remy said. “Watch this.” He reached into his pocket and slid out a playing card, which was the last thing Pietro expected. He actually laughed. 

“Card tricks?” 

“You could say that.” The card started glowing, and Pietro's eyes widened. Then Remy flicked his wrist, sending the card flying into one of the corner tables--

Where it exploded. 

Pietro and everyone else in the cafe jumped. Remy smirked. Pietro turned back to him and actually hit him in the head with the washcloth. “What the hell was that for? Are you trying to kill us?” 

“Oh, please,” Remy said. “That was harmless. Besides, it's the least bored you've been at this place so far.” 

“I'm not bored,” Pietro snapped. 

“Not anymore,” Remy said. He glanced around and saw Betsy angling towards him. He sighed and muttered, “Gotta go,” and sped out the front doors. 

Betsy reached Pietro and put a hand on his shoulder. “I shoulda warned you about that, too.” 

“You knew?” Pietro asked. 

Betsy shrugged. “Yeah. He pulled that trick on a few of the baristas. Made one of them quit. I should've banned him after the first time, but,” she made a helpless gesture. 

“But he's so charming, right?” Pietro asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“If you want, you can ban him the next time you see him,” Betsy said. 

Pietro turned back to the table he'd been cleaning before. 

There was a card on it. An Ace of Hearts. He picked it up and pocketed it. 

He and Remy were going to have words.

*

Remy didn't show up until the end of the week. And when he did, Pietro, who'd been finishing up a few drinks (“You're the most efficient employee I've seen in a while,” Betsy kept telling him) handed off the last cup to a bewildered looking old man and shouted, “I'm-going-on-break!” 

By the time Betsy said, “What?” he was in front of the counter, blocking Remy's path. 

“Bonjour mon--” Remy started, but Pietro hissed, “Come on” and dragged him outside. 

As soon as they were out the doors, Remy folded his arms and smiled down at Pietro. Which was annoying, because Pietro was actually pretty tall, and Remy only had one inch on him, but made it seem like more. 

Pietro handed him the card, which he'd been carrying around since he'd found it. “I prefer diamonds,” he said. 

“'Course you do,” Remy said, plucking the card from Pietro's hand and pocketing it. “You're sharp.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing bad,” Remy said. “Just different.” 

“You need to stop coming in and bothering everyone,” Pietro said. “Someone's going to ban you from here.” 

“And it's gonna be you?” Remy asked. 

Pietro wanted to say yes, but he'd been banned from so many places himself that he thought it would be pretty hypocritical of him to ban someone else from somewhere. 

“Just a warning,” he said. 

“I figured out your power,” Remy said. “Speed.” 

“How--” 

“You used it right before you dragged me out here, chere,” Remy said. Pietro groaned and glanced inside the cafe. Betsy waved back at him. He turned back to Remy, who added, “if you were trying ta be subtle about it you failed.” 

“Shut up,” Pietro snapped. “It's hard, okay?” 

“I can only imagine,” Remy said. “The rest of the world going so slow. I like the fast life, me.” 

“You don't sound like you do,” Pietro said. 

“What, my accent?” Remy smiled. “That's just the result of growing up down South. Anyway, I can tell you're the sorta guy who likes the fast life, too. So, wanna get a coffee?” 

“What.” Pietro blinked. “I make coffee every day. No, I don't want to get a coffee.” 

“It don't have ta be coffee,” Remy said. 

Pietro stared at him for a moment. Or a couple of seconds. It felt long to him before the implications of what Remy was saying hit. 

“Are you asking me on a date?” 

“You could say that, yeah,” Remy said. “I find you attractive.” 

Pietro folded his arms over his chest. “Are you always this forward?” 

“Yup,” Remy said. “Gotta take chances, otherwise you'll regret what you ain't done. Lots of missed opportunities and all that.” 

“Shit,” Pietro said. 

“I can help you make the decision,” Remy said. 

“How are you--” Pietro started, but was interrupted when Remy reached forward to touch his cheek. The contact caused Pietro to choke on his words halfway through his question, and then Remy followed through by kissing him. 

He leaned back, smirking, and Pietro's brain had short-circuited. Only after a few seconds of internal screaming did he manage to hiss, “What-the-hell-were-you-thinking-they-can-see-us-from-inside-do-you-want-me-to-suffer-even-more-than-I-do-at-work-because-they-will-make-fun-of-me-for-this-they-told-me-you-were-an-ass-”

“Can't understand a word you're saying,” Remy said, “but I'll come back when you're ready ta let me know about our date.” He started to walk away and Pietro's brain caught up. 

“Fine.” He sighed, then called out, “I'll go on a date with you. One date!” He paused. “Not coffee!” 

Remy merely waved his hand, and Pietro took a deep breath and went back inside. 

“Good break?” Betsy asked. 

Pietro stormed past her to one of the coffee machines. “We're not going to talk about this. Ever.” 

And they didn't. Until Remy showed up two days later to tell Pietro what his plans were for their first date.


End file.
